Forwards and Backwards
by skywolf666
Summary: The word "massacre" seemed almost too gentle to describe what had happened in the village of Remire, but the filthy work had been done, and there was only cold comfort to be taken from it. Jeralt paused to survey the wreckage, aware of the expanding conspiracy, and wondering what part his children were to play in it. The time for secrets was maybe over. (BL, B!SiblingxJeralt Talk.)


**White Clouds**

**Remire Village (Outskirts)**

**Red Wolf Moon**

**Year 1180**

It had been a massacre. There were no other words to describe it. The stench of death and smoke permeated every last inch of the former village of Remire, and even as far away as Warin and his father now were, there was no end to the lingering reminder of what they had just done and walked away from. It didn't matter that they had been left without choice when facing down the horde of crazed villagers so eager to attack them and their former friends and family. It didn't matter that Tomas, or Solon, had been the mastermind behind it. It didn't even matter that the so-called Flame Emperor had claimed to have no involvement... The blood was on their hands, and the hands of the students of the Blue Lions, who had come with the knights to investigate the horrors taking place in the once quiet and peaceful hamlet.

They had all looked so sick upon leaving. Sick with fear, guilt, or anger. The prince of Faerghus had been visibly shaking for the majority of the battle and aftermath, and he had been led away by his sister, who had looked just as angry during the fight, but had swallowed it all down to take care of her students once the battle had been won. If they could even claim what they had done to be a victory. He had wanted to go after her, to make sure she was okay, but he had restrained himself when he saw her quietly speaking to Dimitri before leading him off by the hand where the rest of her students had already begun the long trek back home. She had her own worries and concerns to attend to, and after knowing she had been ill for the majority of the month, he did not want to add to her burden.

Now... Warin wasn't entirely sure what it was he felt as he looked back over at the remains of the village that had housed him and his family one too many times. He had known the villagers they had struck down. Some of them even by name. They'd had children, wives and husbands, and now were nothing but corpses left to bury, or worse, examine for the dark magic that had forced them to lose themselves and become homicidal machines. It made him sick to his stomach to know that the people who had helped him, fed him, protected him, were now dead... and partially by his own hand, no less.

"You know we had no choice."

It was cold comfort, but it was the only comfort Jeralt could give his son, and Warin accepted it with a tiny nod. He was aware there hadn't been a choice. There was no reasoning with the villagers who had been under Solon's thrall. All they wished for was murder, and if they had wasted a moment, there would only be more corpses to pile up and bury. Every dead villager was another that they could save, but even that logic didn't help very much. How was he supposed to feel anything but regret, knowing he had killed a husband to spare his wife from his berserker rage? Was he supposed to expect gratitude, or hatred? Was there even anything to expect at all? There was just too many dead. Too many innocents. He had been a mercenary ever since he had been old enough to hold a blade, but even all those years of harsh training hadn't prepared him for this.

Warin ran a hand over his face, rubbing away the ash and blood that had come to make an ugly, sticky mixture on his skin that he had accumulated during the melee. He wanted to dunk his entire body into the nearest lake and scrub himself raw, but that was a luxury that was far beyond them yet. They still needed to return to the monastery with their official report. The archbishop would be expecting it, even if the Blue Lions returned before they did, which considering their pace, was a very real possibility. But they were students, young and inexperienced, and they were trying to escape their deeds just as much as they wanted to escape the hell where it had all happened. He could understand that. His voice was tired as he rubbed harder at his cheek to continue to get the substance off of his skin, "I know, Father. But that still doesn't make me like it."

"Nobody said you had to. This was evil." Jeralt's voice was rough as he agreed with his son, and his jaw was firmly set as he cast his eyes back to the smoking ruin of the village where he had settled so many times with his son and daughter. He, too, had known them all by name, and he ached with the knowledge that he had not been able to save nearly as many of the poor villagers as he had wished he could. They had earned so much more than a quick death at the end of his lance, but when he had looked at them and saw nothing but an insane bloodlust in their eyes... There had been no other mercy he could give them. "Tomas... Solon. Whoever that creature was... I'll kill him for this. That Flame Emperor, too. Saying they had no involvement... Hah. What a way to wash your hands of your sins. If you claim camaraderie with someone, you shoulder their crimes as much as their accomplishments. Anyone should know that."

Warin had expected no less, but to hear his father claim that he would personally hunt down the monsters responsible for what had happened to the village was somewhat unlike him. He wasn't the type to hold a grudge, even if he was loyal almost to a fault. He paid back his debts as he accrued them, at least everything but his tavern tabs, and there was a reason he was treated with respect everywhere he went, as a mercenary, and as a knight. He was a man people admired. Still... Warin could also understand it, and so he did not feel discomfort at the anger simmering in his father's eyes. He supposed his own had to look much the same. Still, he had not been there when the Flame Emperor had made their appearance, he had been dealing with herding the shell-shocked students back towards their professor, and he asked both rhetorically and with genuine curiosity, "Do you think they were telling the truth?"

"Not at all. Who stands in the middle of a massacre that their so-called comrade committed and claims innocence? And then has the gall to request that you aid them in some ridiculous pipe-dream to reform the world? Whoever's under the mask is deluded, or flat-out insane." Jeralt replied with a bitter snort, and he could still see how quickly his daughter had gone for her sword the moment such a request had been made of her from the mask-wearing commander. She had spat out her refusal as if she was a snake, her eyes flashing with such rage that for a brief moment, Jeralt almost didn't recognize his own child. Never before had he seen her bear her anger in such a way, even if now was the perfect time for her to do so. But she had been changing, and changing steadily ever since their arrival at the monastery, and he was growing accustomed to that fact as much as it both pained him and made him proud. He almost considered the Flame Emperor to be lucky. He had been smart enough to use his magic to flee the scene the moment they had been distracted from him. Otherwise, he likely would have met a very painful demise from the Sword of the Creator.

"This is the third incident we can connect him to, now. At least, now that we know he also has some sort of relationship to the Death Knight. The attack on the Holy Mausoleum, Flayn's kidnapping, and now this... What is he truly after?" Warin let out a long breath, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose as he felt the beginnings of a headache rumbling away in his temples. It had been a very long time since he had been so overwhelmed by battle that his body had begun protests, and he wondered if it was a sign of his lack of training, or the incidents' increasing severity. He didn't like either explanation whatsoever as he mused quietly, "Reforming the world... It's asinine. Especially if these are the methods they intend to use to do it. Reform the world for who? Creatures with no regard for human life? What kind of world will that be, once all is said and done?"

"A nightmare, that's what." Jeralt answered with a heavy sigh of his own, and he watched as Warin lowered his head and stared listlessly at his feet. He looked exhausted, both physically and mentally, and he could hardly blame his son for that. Had he known exactly what he had been walking into, he would have kept his children, and the students, far away from Remire Village and handled it on his own with the knights. The last thing he wanted was seeing them exposed to such horror, and having to take responsibility for cleaning up the ensuing tragedy. Noble brats or not, nobody deserved to have that sort of blood on their hands, and their shaken faces had spoken more than enough to tell him this day would haunt them for many, many nights to come. "Let's look at their goals, then... The Sword of the Creator was something they wanted. They failed at that endeavour. Worse than failed, really, now that it's in Raine's hands. For whatever reason she can wield it... and that only puts her in danger, seeing as they wanted it so badly."

"Raine's proven that sword belongs with her, regardless of its origins. They'll have a very difficult time taking it from her." Warin replied with a little shake of his head, and after seeing her using it with deadly intent in combat in person, he was confident in his words. The sword, even if it had belonged to Nemesis in long days past, had found a new owner in her hands. It was an extension of herself now, and she treated it as such. Anyone would have difficulty taking it from her by force, and those who tried craft would find themselves turned into a Black Beast due to their lacking the Crest of Flames. It was safer with her than it had been in the tombs, and Warin had to remark with a half-smile as he also brought up the secondary defensive measure his sister had, "And that isn't accounting for her house. Those students of hers would go to war for her. If she's made a target, it means the whole of the Kingdom could come crashing down on the idiot reckless enough to try for her neck."

"All true, but she doesn't know why she can wield that sword. Neither do we. We have guesses, but that's not enough…" Jeralt sighed as he ran a hand through his hair and looked skyward with a tired gaze. He didn't doubt his son's faith in his sister. It was true. Raine was a swordswoman both by nature and by gift, and he had seen her handling of the Relic like it was merely a secondary part of her body. It would take someone truly dangerous to part that sword from her hand, and she was well protected from such threats both in and out of the monastery... but that didn't help the main problem that he believed they were facing. It had been on his mind for too long, and letting it out into the open, with the only soul who shared his burden, felt much better than it likely had any right to be when he muttered, "It might be time to stop keeping secrets."

At that, Warin paused in surprise. It wasn't as if he hadn't known his father was considering it. Everything he did and said in the past several moons had hinted at his growing exhaustion with keeping their history deep in the shadows. And he could well understand. He spent every single weekend that he was at the monastery at his mother's grave to lay her the flowers he was painstakingly growing in the greenhouse... Raine was still not aware it was even there. It was not out of malice, either. She had meant what she had said upon learning they had once lived in the monastery, that her father's secrets were his to keep and disclose at his discretion, and she hadn't asked a single question since their arrival there. She wanted to respect him and his wishes, regardless of her burning curiosity. But hearing his father saying it aloud and so bluntly... He could not help but question to ensure that he was absolutely serious, "You want to tell her the whole truth of why we left?"

"I think it's time. She's not the same woman she used to be. You can see that just as clearly as I can." Jeralt smiled wryly, and though the words made his heart full, it also made it ache. His daughter was growing, and growing rapidly... He wasn't sure she needed to be shielded any longer from the real truth. He also wasn't sure he could continue to keep up the charade. He knew of his son's habits. He was doing the very same. How could they deprive of her that right, too? It simply wasn't fair of them. He rubbed his jaw, shaking his head as he let out another long breath, "And who knows how much longer I'll be around? Coming here... We may not have wanted it, but something good came out of it. Look at her now. Bearing her emotions as if she's never had difficulty with it in all her life. Caring for strangers. Willing to put her life on the line for her students. I won't say I'm completely happy with it, I still don't want to be here, but for that change alone... I'll admit I've wondered if I made the right decision in leaving in the first place."

Warin was silent as he digested his father's words. Both the ones he had spoken, and the ones he did not. His face said everything that his words didn't, with that sad look of guilt and pain and longing, and it made his own heart twinge with sympathy. He understood, even if it did not entirely sit well with him... but that was not the important matter at hand. He, too, let out a sigh as he decided it was best to agree with his father's logic... It was not as if he had any real grounds to argue it, anyway. He had never challenged his father outright before. It simply was not his way. The man knew more than he did, about battle, tactics, and life, and Warin respected that knowledge, and was always willing to cede to it no matter how it might make him feel. "If that's what you've decided, then I won't argue with you. She's wanted to know ever since coming here, but she respected the fact that you didn't want to speak of it."

Jeralt was well aware of that, and it hurt him to know even though he was grateful that his daughter cared so much for him and his thoughts on the matter. Warin had told him directly of their conversation shortly after their arrival at the monastery, and it had made him sick with doubt and uncertainty then. He had waited for almost two whole moons for his daughter to change her mind and come marching up to him, demanding answers that she fully deserved, but that moment had never come. He doubted now that it ever would. She believed in him too much to call him out on his secrecy. It made him feel disgusted with himself. However, Warin's expression was not nearly as agreeable as his words suggested, and Jeralt was not fooled by him for a moment. He turned his attention to his son as he questioned him frankly, "But what about you?"

His son's face twisted with a new sort of anger, and one that Jeralt was quite intimately familiar with. As a child Warin had suffered for so long with his rage, and had only managed to survive with it and grow to be a brother by putting it all aside, and focussing it instead on the Church of Seiros, onto Rhea, rather than on his sister. He could not be a brother if he hated the newborn girl that had been indirectly responsible for his mother's death. He knew that much. But blaming the church, and blaming Rhea... That was permissible, and he did so gladly and gratefully, and he was not shy in admitting it as he answered bluntly, "For Raine, coming here might have been a good thing... but I still don't think the same can be said of us. We're being used as dogs, and it's getting worse with every passing moon. I'm sick of being told to fetch, heel, and kill at Rhea's command. I'm not a knight. I'm a mercenary. And no amount of coin is worth being under her thumb again, running her errands that we've no business being involved in. I want to leave now as much as I did when we first arrived. Moreso, actually."

"I know you haven't been stupid enough to be saying those things in public, but it worries me that you still feel that way..." Jeralt admitted with a shake of his head, but he wasn't about to entirely deny the fact that his son was right to have his opinions, and feel the way that he did. It didn't matter if their ideas clashed. He never would say his son was wrong to put his hate where he did. Hadn't he done the same, if only in a more subtle way? Keeping his daughter as isolated from the church as possible, from the world, and doing everything in his power to never be found, and never let her know the truth about their pasts? It certainly wasn't completely motivated by his desire to protect her. There was been more than a fair degree of anger for him, too. Still, he had lived long enough to know when and when not to speak. His son had never bothered to develop that skill. "You know what could happen to you if someone learned what your true thoughts are. Catherine already has her eyes firmly fixed on you because of your habit of speaking too bluntly. You don't need more suspicion coming your way."

That made him laugh despite himself, though Warin was aware that his father was only coming from a place of pragmatic concern, and of nothing else. Shamir had already idly mentioned how much his partner mistrusted him, and he was fairly certain that mistrust was growing quickly into hatred. It was not his fault that he would not bow and scrape to the archbishop. He had no intention of ever kneeling to that woman, regardless of what might happen to him if he was put into such a position where his loyalties were questioned. It was sheer principle now, and he would not violate the last remnants of pride he had left just to make himself look like less of a threat. And his smile was both bitter and cold as he told his father so. "I'm not afraid of the church. Nor am I afraid of Rhea. If they want to kill me for being an apostate, they're more than welcome to try me. I've been serving without complaint since I was brought here. That's more than she deserves for what she's done."

"You're treading in dangerous waters, Warin." Jeralt warned him, and he felt more than a little discomforted to hear his son lay out his hatred so plainly. It was not a surprise. It truly wasn't. Warin had proven he would not, under any circumstance, lower his eyes in the archbishop's presence since the very first moment they had returned. Instead he had merely stared at her, coldly and with open, simmering wrath, and he knew that Rhea had seen it just as plainly as he had. Thankfully, the archbishop had chosen to overlook it, though he had no idea why she would. Perhaps it was guilt? Despite what she had done, or what they assumed she had done, Rhea had loved his wife almost as if she was a sister. She understood grief. Jeralt knew that. Had she not mourned alongside them during her funeral, small and intimate as it had been? If she was understanding his son's hatred to be born of grief, born of blame, perhaps that was why she was leaving him be. It was really the only idea he could come up with that made any sense. It wasn't as if Warin was foolish enough to try and act on his emotions. It was more that he would not hide them. And Jeralt couldn't really ask for more than that. "I understand how much you hate Rhea. But while we're here, while they're keeping Raine here, we're not in a place to push."

"You say that, but you still want Raine to know the truth about her birth. Aren't you worried her opinions might change to become as extreme as mine?" Warin questioned his father bluntly, and he took no pleasure in seeing Jeralt wince against his logic. It wasn't something he wanted to think of either, but it had to be addressed if this was where his father had arrived at. Raine had grown as a woman, and she was embracing her emotions as she found them. It did not matter what that emotion was, and their fight in Remire had proved it. She could be just as joyful as she could be full of rage. There was a profound risk to be had in exposing her to the truth, and to their theories. No one, not even them, could predict what she would feel if the truth was revealed to her now. "Right now, she's ambivalent. She doesn't care for the religion, she's already witnessed the worst side of the church, but she's polite, and keeping her head down so not to attract attention. But she'd go to war for her students, just as they'd go to war for her, even if that meant making the church her enemy. If you give her the truth about Mother, she might decide it isn't worth the charade. She might decide she wants revenge. What will happen then?"

"We'll deal with that when the time comes. For now, I think it's time she learned the truth." Jeralt was surprised by the fact that his answer didn't change, despite the very valid argument that his son was presenting. It was a gamble, most certainly, for them to tell her now when she was at her most volatile and unpredictable... but wasn't that also proof that she deserved to know, more than ever, if she had embraced what she hadn't known she had for so long? Then there was the guilt. That non-stop gnawing deep within his gut that warned him that he had to do it soon, before he became too ill, too tortured, to do so himself. But this was not just his choice, as he was not the only member of the family involved. He had always given Warin his agency, even in choices that were not really his to make, and he was not about to change that now. And he settled a hand on his hip as he continued tiredly, "If you agree with me, then we'll do so together. If you still don't, then maybe we can wait a little bit longer. At least, until this all blows over... If it will."

"I told you. This is your decision to make, not mine. If you've already decided that you think it's time, then it's time. I'll support you on that." Warin ignored the offer his father gave him with a dismissive wave of his hand. He appreciated the gesture, and he understood fully where his father was coming from, but it still was not something that he was willing to take away from his hands. He was much like his sister in that. His respect for his father's choices were paramount. He would not go against them, even if he would argue with him for the sake of a differing opinion when it was needed or asked for. "My only concern is the possible fallout. If you wish to tell her, then I believe we should. It's that simple."

"You're still difficult as ever, kid..."

"I get it from you."

"Yeah... You do." Jeralt shook his head as he returned his thoughts back and away from his family, and instead to the matter behind him. It was not easy. He didn't want to even look at the smoking shell of Remire, let alone speak of it, but that was a luxury he could ill afford. And he turned himself towards the village, watching the curls of smoke rising from the husks of burnt-out houses and corpses, and he felt a cold shiver go up his spine. So much needless death. In all his life, he hadn't seen anything like it, and he had lived for a very long time. He began slowly, keeping his eyes on his target to help sharpen his thoughts, "All right, then... The Sword of the Creator. They failed for the sword. Next was the little girl. Flayn. They wanted her blood, supposedly. For these "experiments"? Did they use it to do something in Remire?"

"It's possible, but I don't know how that'd work." Warin admitted openly, and he shrugged his shoulders as he wondered how such horrors could be concocted merely with blood and magic. Such things had always been beyond him. He had no talent in healing or in offensive spells, and he hadn't made much of an effort to even try to understand the very basics of such things. There were better ways to spend his time, and much more intelligent men and women to rely on for information of that level. He stuck to his strengths, even if it did mean that he was crippled in some ways by his ignorance. But that didn't stop him from musing alongside his father all the same in a quiet voice of his own, "Seteth said her blood was special. Dangerous. But what kind of blood can turn people into homicidal maniacs? Professor Manuela suggested magic when this first started. Dark magic. Isn't it more likely that it was a combination of the two somehow?"

"That's possible... but you shouldn't underestimate the power of blood. Especially when that blood has the power of a Major Crest of one of the Four Saints." Jeralt replied, and he tapped his fingers restlessly against the hilt of his lance as he thought long and hard on the situation. Seteth's words about his sister had made him wonder, and his experience with Crests had already taught him enough first-hand. There was danger here, danger beyond any normal soldier or mercenary, and it was not without caution that he was going to wade forward into the mire. "Say what you will about the religion, and about the church... but it doesn't change the fact that those Crests are incredibly damn dangerous."

"You received blood from Rhea. She has a Major Crest of Seiros. Is that what you're talking about?" Warin's question was pointed, and it made Jeralt smile a little as he brought up a subject that was usually quite taboo, even for the two of them. The real origins of his Crest were dubious at best, though thankfully his son had inherited his own by birth, just as many before him had. It was not often that he was reminded of the true circumstances, but perhaps that was because he didn't truly understand it much himself.

"Partially. That was a long, long time ago. And it did change me. I'm stronger than I was... and much, much older. Too old. It likely is a side-effect of inheriting a Major Crest the way that I did. It probably shouldn't have even been possible. But that wasn't my business to ask about at the time. I saved Rhea's life, and she gave me her blood to save mine. That made us square." Jeralt repeated the story he had told his son many years ago, before they had left the monastery and when it had first been discovered that Warin held the Crest of Seiros, too. Rhea had said it was nothing to concern himself over, that Warin's inheritance of the Major Crest was much like any other before him, but that now only raised questions with what had happened in Remire. Blood was powerful, and nothing to be overlooked. "But if a simple blood transfusion from someone carrying a Major Crest is enough to do what it did to me, then what happened here might make sense if Flayn's blood was used as a catalyst for whatever experiment Solon was doing."

Warin let out a breath as he felt that throbbing in his temples grow stronger at the jargon that he admittedly was having a difficult time following. He didn't understand Crests any more than he understood magic, and that wasn't for a lack of effort. The complexities, and the mysteries, simply were too many for him to wrap his head around. Even Professor Hanneman didn't know all, and he had spent the majority of his life dedicated to his research. Nobody could give a straight and factual answer on why the bloodlines of the Ten Elites were dwindling, and why Crests of all sorts were fading, or popping up in one person or another. It seemed to be more a thing of chance than anything else, and that only made him more confused as he sighed tiredly, "This is giving me a headache."

"Likewise, kid. But we need to look at all the possibilities... Once we get back to Garreg Mach, it's not as if we'll be let in on the details of whatever transpired here, when and if they discover the truth." Jeralt pointed out with an irritated scowl, and Warin nodded in admittance. It was an annoying thing, returning to his post as "captain", yet still being kept in the dark about the most important matters. It was par the course, he hadn't exactly been well-informed back during his old times of service, but now it was only more apparent the more time that went on. He had to wonder just how many secrets the church was actually keeping, and he could well imagine that the number was higher than he really wanted to know. His son was smart, and he was well aware of this all already, but it didn't stop him from his old habits as he reminded him as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "You remember how Raine was pressured to keep the truth of the Relics a secret. This won't be any different, I'm imagining..."

"That'll be difficult if there's going to be more of these so-called experiments happening. You can't keep the destruction of a whole village under wraps for long. And we don't even know what the end goal really is. All we know is what they have, and haven't managed to accomplish since they popped their ugly faces out of the shadows." Warin pointed out with a grimace of his own. It didn't help that the few survivors of Remire were returning with the knights to the monastery, now that they had no home, and many having no remaining family. Word would spread, regardless of any efforts to keep it a secret. The survivors would not all stay in the monastery, and it was a guarantee that they would speak of why they had left their homes if they sought out family or friends in other places. It didn't help that this was apparently the first experiment to have taken place, and that very idea made him shudder as he continued on coldly, "It isn't a lot to go on... and I don't want to see what their next play is, if this was their first opening move. Too many people died today. How many more will die the next time they show themselves?"

"I don't know, kid. All we can do is wait, and prepare for it." Jeralt knew he was offering cold comfort yet again, but he really didn't have anything else to give his son as he came to the same conclusions he had. It was difficult, watching the way he looked back at Remire with such remorse and guilt in his eyes, but he understood... If they wanted to make sure it did not happen again, and with no information to go on, all they could do was train and make sure they were stronger the next time they were called upon. It was not much, but it was all they could do, and they would do it until their hands bled from the effort if they had to.

Warin was silent for a long time, clenching and unclenching his fingers as he felt the weight of his gauntlets like never before. They hadn't been built to spill innocent blood of civilians, but there they were, strapped to his wrists and quickly drying from the blood of the people of Remire... He wondered how his sister felt, and he cursed himself for not asking before watching her take her students away. He knew she was still so new to her emotions, as if she was experiencing so many things for the first time, and he was well aware this guilt and rage had to be the same as her joy and her care for her house. His gaze dragged away from the village, back towards the monastery where he knew Raine was leading her students, and he sighed without thinking as his heart gave a pained squeeze inside of his chest, "I'm worried about her..."

"I'm worried, too. But she has you, so she'll be okay." Jeralt's voice was firm and warm, and the hand that ruffled his hair felt just as strong as the faith in his voice did. Warin ducked out from under it, but his lips were quirking into a hint of a smile at the way his father was so quick to remind him that they would all be okay, so long as they remained a family. That belief had kept them all going at one point or another, and even in the face of the tragedy before them, it would continue to do so. Jeralt's smile however turned somewhat playful, almost mischievous as he remarked, "As well as that princeling. He's taking good care of her, too."

That earned Warin the first laugh he had managed since he had heard about the trouble in Remire, and he looked to his father who was smiling at him with a knowing glint in his eyes. He was not surprised that the old knight had seen their behaviour and made the appropriate connections without much difficulty. He'd been around far too long to be so naive. It amused him all the same though, that he was taking it so well that he was making light of it. He had almost expected his father to be overprotective. He certainly had been during their teen years inside of the mercenary band. No man had been permitted within throwing distance of his daughter once she had reached adolescence. It had been hysterical for him then, and it was still just as funny to him now as he mused, "So, you've noticed that, too, huh?"

"Hard not to. I don't think_ they've_ noticed it yet, but it's obvious enough to me. I saw the battle in Grondor Fields. That told me more than enough." Jeralt replied with a chuckle, and he placed his hand on Warin's shoulder to gently begin to steer him back towards the path that would take them to the monastery. They had spent enough time lingering in the shadows of Remire, and it would do them no good to continue to stay there and talk. They needed to return to Garreg Mach, to reassess themselves, and to begin to try and heal from their wounds. Otherwise, the guilt, the questioning, the anger would swallow them whole. And he kept his voice light, fighting down his real emotions in an effort to kick-start that process for his son, "Whether or not it goes anywhere, that's still up in the air, but right now... I'm comfortable leaving her in his hands, and in yours. He's a good kid. Troubled, like anyone else, but still a good kid. I trust him to do right by Raine, whether or not it's as a student or as a man."

"She'd kill you if she heard you saying that."

"I said I didn't think they noticed it themselves yet. If she heard me saying anything, she'd probably be horrified that I noticed something she didn't." Jeralt pointed out with a laugh, and Warin shook his head with an amused smile as he kept easy pace beside his father as they began to walk away. It amused him to think of his daughter being so horrifically embarrassed, but he wasn't sure she was at that point quite yet. She didn't seem aware of her own feelings when it concerned the Kingdom noble, but there was no doubt that something was certainly there all the same... and it most certainly was reciprocal, even if it was completely unknown between the two. That only really made the situation all the more amusing. "But there's no hiding the fact that he's smitten by her. Follows her about like a lost puppy on the monastery grounds, and guards her like a wolf on the battlefield. That isn't because she's his student. I'd bet good coin on it."

"And you're all right with the idea of her possibly being with a nobleman?" Warin questioned half-seriously as he looked askance at his father with a curious gleam in his eye. It had been a damned relief for both of them when Raine had reached of age and had shown no interest whatsoever in romance or sex, especially considering the fact that mercenaries were ill-suited for romance as a general rule. No father wanted their daughter marrying a sellsword, even if that man was a sellsword himself, and Jeralt was no exception to that rule. But to hear him say so casually that he didn't seem to mind his daughter showing interest in a nobleman brought up a slew of other questions that Warin couldn't quite help himself from asking. It was a totally different scenario, one that was likely impossible considering their social status to begin with, but if his father was indulging the conversation... "And not just a regular nobleman, but a future king, at that?"

"Nobody said it would ever go that far. He's young. And to be fair, so is she. They've got some years left on them yet before that becomes an issue." Jeralt waved away the question, though he was well aware that Warin's concerns were genuine. In any other circumstance, he doubted he would be so carefree about the idea. But here, they were professor and student before they were a mercenary and a prince, and that showed in their current relationship. Politics was not something they were thinking about, and they were not even aware of their feelings in the first place. Whether or not it went anywhere wasn't really his concern. All he wanted to know, and did know, was that the prince was willing to risk his life for his daughter. That was more than enough to satisfy and pacify him and his protective instincts. "But, for now... I trust him with her care. As much as I trust you, to be honest. If he's willing to be so protective in a mock-battle between the houses, I have no doubts that translates to the same thing on the battlefield. He doesn't need to do anything else to earn my respect. So, I know she's in good hands. I can rest peacefully with that knowledge."

"Stop talking like that. It's too morbid." Warin shook his head, and he reached out to shove his father playfully in the shoulder at the comments that he had gotten used to, but still disliked heavily. His father was a morbid joker, and was also quite aware that death was always lurking about every corner. It was an occupational hazard as a mercenary, but that didn't mean that he had to indulge in the dark humour every time the topic came up. He shook his head as his father chuckled at him, and commented sourly, "You're not going anywhere for a long damned time, not if I have anything to say about it. Act like a proper father for once, will you? Start badgering about grandchildren or something. Anything."

"Grandchildren, huh? All right. I'll bite." Jeralt's eyes twinkled with mirth at his son's griping, and he didn't hesitate to leap upon the opportunity that had been presented. He watched his daughter keenly, but that did not mean that he was blind to what his son was doing. Jeralt was well aware of the fact that Warin had taken on a new sparring partner, and he had been spending much more time than usual around her as a consequence. It was not like him whatsoever, and Jeralt hadn't planned to bring it up unless it turned into problem, which it did not look like it would. But Warin had invited the challenge, and so he took it with great paternal pleasure, "You and Shamir look to be getting close. Sparring almost every weekend now, aren't you?"

"All right, all right... Point taken. I'm shutting up."

"Hah!"

**AN:**

**I love Jeralt. So much. It was criminal that he didn't have a support with Byleth, and I want to make up for that so badly... Hence the influx of family-oriented fics as "that moment" rapidly comes to slap us all in the face. But I can't help it! I know it's tragic, building up things only for it all to fall over like Jenga, but I really want to expand on how important he is to his children, and how important they are to him. It's all rather clearly laid out, mind you, in-game, which makes what happens all the harder to bear... but I want more. I'm too much of a whore for angst to just leave it like that, you know? So I keep writing, and hurting myself. It's such a bad habit...**

**So, while this fic was centred on Warin and Jeralt, I also had a fun time using it for foreshadowing. Of course, it's not like we don't know where this is going, but it's fun watching them speculate and toss around their own opinions on what may or may not be happening. And of course, remarking on Raine's growth with both worry and pride. They are the men of the family, and she is their precious treasure. Watching her grow and change has to be hard for them, and I imagine it was harder for Jeralt, realizing that he'd missed a lot of this, and through no fault of his own. He always seemed so taken aback, but also happy... Urgh. They needed a support!**

**I think everyone is aware of what's coming up next, as I've been adhering to a rough pattern of a chapter per moon. That may slow down as the pace in-game picks up (and there is a lot of content to cover before the war-phase begins), but I can't really make any promises. There's still a lot to do, and I'm trying to figure out my schedule as well as what I want to write versus what can be safely skipped over and mentioned offhand. This series of sorts is really turning out to be like a supplementary guide to the story of Three Houses, but I'm enjoying writing it that way... Are you guys enjoying reading it that way? Let me know.**

**As always, thanks for reading this far, and please drop me a review should you feel the need. I always want to hear your opinions on everything, as you know! Hope you guys have a good one, and I shall see you again next fic!**

**Mood: Wiggly.**

**Listening To: "I Know I'm A Wolf" - Young Heretics**

**~ Sky**


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